The Almost Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Series Book 2) Page 5

  “Walk?” Sam frowned. “How far is it?”

  Devon shrugged. “Not that far. Maybe five . . . six miles.”

  Sam looked down at her feet, once again regretting her choice of attire. She was still wearing her Uggs—not exactly long distance walking shoes. Plus, she felt dumb in them. They were cool for like a minute. And not even in Sam's lifetime, but she secretly loved them. They were so comfy and warm. They were her official airplane shoes. It's not like she ever dressed up to fly. She wasn’t expecting to run into anyone she was trying to impress on an airplane. Or parade five miles through town in them. Sam suddenly wished she was one of those people who dressed up to fly. She never understood how people wore suits on planes. But now she sorta saw the appeal. Then, at least she wouldn’t be in her stupid Uggs.

  She scowled at her boots considering her options. What if she ran into more of Devon’s so-called friends? She didn’t want to be cast as a social pariah just because they saw her wearing Uggs.

  Sam was popular at her old school in Boston. And Stanton Prep wasn’t the easiest place to be part of the in crowd. She wasn't a Golden or anything—those were the crème de la crème at Stanton. You couldn't be a Golden unless you were obscenely rich, famous or blessed by divine birthright. And sometimes that didn’t even guarantee you would be a Golden for life. Goldens fell from grace all the time. Sam’s mind instantly flashed back to Cody Matthews, a boy a few years older than her at Stanton. He was probably the most famous fallen Golden. She couldn’t even imagine dealing with his disaster.

  But, anyway, that didn’t matter, because Sam wasn't a Golden, she wasn’t even at Stanton anymore. But she was still hoping to be popular at her new school, Eddington Academy.

  She knew from experience being part of the in crowd made things a lot easier. Sam thought it would be easy to win everyone over at Eddington. She was pretty, played sports, got good grades, and made friends easily. But if the popular crowd at Eddington treated a guy like Devon this bad, Sam was afraid to see what their versions of Goldens were like. With Devon’s looks and wealth he would be a reigning monarch at Stanton. Eddington must be a viper’s nest if even Devon couldn't survive.

  That sealed the deal. She wasn’t risking walking through town in her current attire. She didn’t want to be referred to as Ugg-girl for the next few months of her miserable life in Ireland. She turned to Devon. “Screw that! It’s freezing. I don’t want to walk home.”

  Devon

  Sam was right. It was unseasonably cold, but that was pretty much the only temperature Ireland had in the fall—cold and colder.

  “Here,” Devon said shrugging off his sweater and offering it to Sam.

  “Thanks.”

  She stuffed her head through and damn it all to hell if she didn’t look even cuter. Her tiny frame swam in his massive baby blue sweater—like a kitten wearing clothes or some rubbish.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but I’m still not really crazy about walking six miles in these boots.”

  “Unless you’re joking about the whole not-knowing-how-to-drive thing, I don’t see what other choice we have.”

  “I wish I was joking. But, how hard can driving a few miles be? Maybe you could teach me?”

  She sounded so optimistic Devon would have said yes to anything. You’d like a kidney or maybe my liver? Sure thing, kitten. Anything for you.

  Ten minutes later they were both buckled into the Defender and Devon was running through the basics of driving a manual transmission, completely regretting his decision.

  “Like this?” Sam asked.

  The car lurched forward and stalled.

  Shite! This was a bad idea.

  She tried again. Grind, lurch, stall. Grind, lurch, stall.

  A very bad idea.

  People inside the pub were watching and pointing now.

  “You’re too close to the car in front of you. Put it in reverse,” Devon directed.

  “Okay.” Sam slammed the brakes, grinding to a halt.

  Devon winced, putting his arm behind Sam’s seat to look over his shoulder so he could guide her. He listened to Sam grinding into reverse and closed his eyes. His poor baby!

  When Devon opened his eyes he realized entirely too late that they weren’t moving backwards—but forward. “Stop!” he bellowed.

  Crunch.

  “Shite!” Devon yelled, staring at the wreckage in front of them.

  “Oh my god!” Sam’s hands were covering her face, which was a good thing because half a dozen people came charging out of the bar and they looked murderous.

  7

  Sam

  It turned out her father had been right to be scared to teach Sam to drive. She was apparently horrible at it. She hadn’t even made it out of the parking spot without an accident. The car she hit belonged to one of the bartenders at Finnegan’s. She hadn’t really hit his little Fiat that hard, but the damn thing still folded up like a tin can. And it didn’t help that the Defender was basically a tank. It didn’t even have a scratch on it. Probably a good thing considering they were stupid expensive.

  The bartender—his name was Pete—was actually a pretty good sport about the whole thing once he calmed down. Devon explained it was his fault after basically tossing Sam into the back seat so no one would see it was her who’d been driving. He climbed into the driver’s seat and hopped out before she could argue.

  “This is all my fault,” Devon groaned. “Sam was trying to reason with me, telling me not to drive because I’d had too much to drink. I shoulda listened to her. I’m so sorry, Pete. I’ll pay for all the damages. I promise.”

  Sam didn’t know what to say. That clearly wasn’t what happened, but she also wasn’t eager to pay for the damages to Pete’s car. She wanted to be sent back to Boston, but not at the expense of bankrupting her father.

  “Shite, Devon. Wait here and I’ll drive ya both home.”

  “No, Pete, you don’t have to do that,” Devon protested.

  “Yes, I do. Or yer Da will have me head. He’ll already be mad as a box-a-frogs I let ya get langered in my bar. The least I can do is get ya home safely.”

  The ride home was awkward and definitely longer than six miles. It made Sam glad she’d vetoed the walking idea—even though the driving idea had been an epic fail. The whole uncomfortable car ride back to Devon’s was pretty much a nonstop string of Devon apologizing to Pete, who ignored him.

  When they finally arrived, Pete dropped them off at the front door, while Devon continued to beg forgiveness.

  “Ah, quit yer Olagonin’,” Pete yelled. “I remember what it’s like to be young. Besides, yer ol’ Da and I got into it a lot worse when we was yer age. Henry owes me one. I’ll talk to him an’ smooth things over for ya, Devon.”

  “Thanks, Pete. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “Nah,” he said waving Devon off. “Just quit being a stook and get yer lass inside before she catches her death.”

  Sam watched Pete drive off and then followed Devon into the house. To Sam’s relief there was no butler to greet them. She glanced at the massive grandfather clock in the foyer—11:30. Maybe butlers didn’t work late? Speaking of late, her father was going to flip. She’d left with Devon hours ago for a bite to eat. She almost felt a twinge of guilt, but maybe tonight hadn’t turned out so bad after all. Returning home late, wearing some drunk guy’s sweater after a car accident—her father would have to see that Ireland was already a bad influence on her.

  That was if he was even still here. Sam had expected to see her father rush out to greet her, but the house was deadly silent.

  “Sam, about tonight,” Devon started. “I’m really sorry—”

  She cut him off. She wasn’t sure if he was going to apologize for the driving, the drinking or the kiss—most of which had been her fault—but she wasn’t in the mood. She really just wanted to go home, wherever that was. “Devon, it’s been a long night. Can you just help me find my dad so I can go home?”

  H
e looked at her strangely. “Your father’s already asleep.”

  Sam’s eyes widened. “What? He left me here?”

  “No, he’s asleep here. He sent us both a text. Didn’t you get it?”

  “No! My phone’s been dead since we got to Finnegan’s.”

  Devon fished his phone from his pocket and handed it to her.

  Sam’s eyes welled as she read through the messages in the group text her father had sent to her and Devon.

  Thomas Connors: Don’t rush back. Henry and I are on a roll. You kids have fun.

  Thomas Connors: Slight complication with our lodging. Standby, Sam.

  Thomas Connors: We’re going to stay with the James’s tonight, Sam. I’ll explain in the morning.

  Thomas Connors: Off to bed. Cara had the Merlin room made up for you, Sam.

  The last text had come through hours ago.

  This was unbelievable. Her father just went to bed without even knowing where she was or if she was getting his messages! How could he do that? Sam didn’t care what he said, the James’s weren’t practically family. They were practically strangers! She hadn’t seen them in nine years. The least her father could do was have a conversation with her before just putting her up in some stranger’s mansion with his handsy son lurking around.

  God! Sam wanted to scream. Sometimes her father was so clueless about having a daughter. He didn’t know when to worry about things, like leaving her alone with boys. All he worried about was not letting her drive. Her plan to get back to Boston by acting out suddenly seemed hopeless. Sam’s father would have to notice her in order for that to work.

  She stomped off down the hall, realizing she didn’t know where she was going. But she didn’t really care. She just wanted to be alone so she could scream and then call Megan and cry about how terrible her life was. She was pretty sure the library was in the direction she was headed and that’s where she’d left her laptop.

  “Where are you going?” Devon called catching up with her.

  “I don’t know,” she said stopping suddenly and throwing her hands up. “Thanks for telling me about the texts, by the way.”

  “I thought you got them,” Devon said incredulously. “Besides, I didn’t see them until the car ride home. I was a little preoccupied at the bar.”

  “Don’t you dare blame tonight on me,” she shouted. Even though it was all her fault.

  “Sam, I’m not. Everything is my fault.” He ran his hand through his thick brown hair, pausing at the nape of his neck. “This isn’t how I planned for today to go.”

  “Oh, you had a plan?” she yelled—not really sure why she was still yelling. Especially when Devon looked completely defeated. His eyebrows scrunched together in the most adorable way when he was frustrated.

  Sam took pity on him. Besides, she was really too exhausted to fight with him right now. All she wanted was a shower and a bed. “Look, can we just forget about tonight. I need to find my laptop and take a shower.”

  “Yeah, come on. I’ll show you to your room.”

  Devon

  Devon led Sam to her bedroom—noting the fact that it was right across the hall from his. He opened the door and turned on the lights for her.

  “Shower’s in there,” he said pointing to the en suite bathroom. “It should be stocked with everything you need.”

  Sam walked over to the bed, inspecting the shoulder bag that lay on it. She pulled out her laptop, seeming relieved to have located it. Then, she sat down on the bed and kicked off her clunky boots. There was still so much more he wanted to say to her, but everything seemed jumbled in his head. Tonight was already a disaster. He should probably just go to bed and start over in the morning.

  “If you need anything, my room’s right across the hall,” he said turning toward the door.

  “Um, wait. What about clothes?” she asked sheepishly. “I have an overnight bag, but I left it in my dad’s rental car.”

  “You’ll find everything you need in the dresser,” Devon replied robotically.

  He wasn’t a fan of his stepmother, but he couldn’t deny that her hospitality was flawless when it came to entertaining guests.

  Sam jumped off the bed and started pulling open drawers like she didn’t trust him. She pulled out a pink and white striped silk nightgown—and not the sexy kind, the old lady kind.

  “I’m not wearing this!”

  “Would you rather borrow some of my clothes?” he offered.

  She seemed to remember she was wearing his sweater and pulled it off, tossing it back at him. “I want my clothes,” she whined.

  “The staff’s all gone home for the evening, Sam. Can’t you make that work?” Devon grumbled pointing to the frilly nightgown.

  “No. And I don’t need staff. I can go get my bag myself if you can just tell me where my dad’s car is.”

  “Good luck getting in without the keys,” Devon said, instantly regretting his tone. He hadn’t meant to get snippy, but Sam had a way of getting under his skin. She always had.

  “Great! Well, thanks for a wonderful evening, Devon. It was a pleasure as always,” she said sarcastically. “Goodnight!”

  Devon watched Sam march into the bathroom and slam the door. He left when he heard the shower running—slamming the door behind him too.

  8

  Sam

  The Merlin room wasn’t so bad. The shower was amazing. Sam wished she wasn’t so tired or she would have stayed under the jet-powered showerhead until the water ran cold. For a place that looked like Beast’s castle, it sure had state-of-the-art features. Like plumbing and heated floors. And there were so many buttons on the toilet she didn’t know which one to push. Who has a remote control for a toilet?

  Being clean had lightened Sam’s mood so much that she gave in and slipped into the silk nightgown. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror and cringed. The material was soft and luxurious, but she looked like Wendy from Peter Pan. Screw it. Half the town had seen her dressed in her nappy travel clothes and Uggs. The nightgown was just the icing on the cake.

  Sam decided to pretend she didn’t look humiliating and finished getting ready for bed. She found a toothbrush, toothpaste, contact solution and a travel case in the perfectly labeled drawers in the bathroom. Devon was right, this place was stocked with everything. She found her glasses in her purse and put them on, before hopping into bed to boot up her laptop. She was about to see if Megan was online when she noticed the low battery light flashing. Sam rifled through the drawers to find a UK adapter for her power cord. No luck. Guess this place doesn’t have everything . . .

  Sam scowled at the door. Devon probably had an adapter, or at least could help her find one. But that meant she’d have to suck up her pride and ask him nicely. And that was the last thing she wanted to do. At least she thought it was. She still hated him, but her mind kept wandering back to that kiss. That Olympic kiss!

  She was seriously confused by Devon. On one hand he was still the same jerk who tormented her when they were kids, but he was also this new jerk, who was ridiculously handsome, opened doors for her, paid for her drinks, gave her his sweater and took the blame for an accident she caused. Not to mention that when she’d gotten him drunk he confided how scared he was about losing his father.

  Damn it! Sam was the one who should be apologizing to Devon.

  Loosing a parent wasn’t something she couldn’t exploit. And Devon seemed genuinely worried. He was going to need a friend. Sam knew from experience how bad it hurt to lose a parent to cancer. The least she could do was be there for Devon after what she’d put him through tonight. She’d have to find another way to get back to Boston. Besides, there were probably dozens of bad boys at Eddington who’d help her get the job done. Unfortunately, Devon wasn’t one of them.

  Devon

  Devon’s heart leapt when he heard a knock at his bedroom door. He hoped it was Sam. It was torture knowing she was just across the hall from him. He quickly towel dried his hair, then wrapped the towe
l around his waist.

  When he opened the door he couldn’t help but smirk. Sam was standing there wearing the ridiculous grandma nightgown. It made her look like a little kid again, and all his boyhood feelings came rushing to the surface.

  “Hey,” she said. “Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you had a power adapter I can borrow so I can charge my laptop and phone?”

  “Yeah, one second,” he said slipping back into the room and closing the door. He dug around in his desk drawer and found an adapter, then slipped back into the hall. “Sorry,” he said, noticing the strange look Sam was giving him. “I’d invite you in, but my dog’s in there and he’s not good with strangers. He’d probably wake up the whole house and Cara already hates him as it is.”

  “Okay,” Sam said, still studying him.

  “Here.” Devon offered her the adapter.

  “Thanks.” Sam closed her fingers around it.

  Their hands brushed for a moment and Devon felt every cell she touched ignite.

  They both stood there silently, lingering outside his door. Sam looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She just stood there, gazing at him like she’d forgotten what she’d been about to say. Devon didn’t trust himself to ask her what she was thinking. Besides, his mind was so clouded with thoughts of kissing her that he could scarcely think himself.

  He was suddenly aware that he was standing inches away from Sam in nothing but a towel. Not a good choice, considering the way his body reacted to her. But if he didn’t know better, he could swear Sam liked what she saw. Her eyes roved to his chest, then lower. It might be wishful thinking . . . but then again . . .

  Devon took a risk—tonight couldn’t get any worse. He reached up and brushed a stray hair from Sam’s face. Her dark hair was still damp and it slipped through his fingers like ribbons of chocolate. The sensation made her shiver.